


All Precious Things Discovered Late

by galfridian



Category: Anne of Green Gables (1985), Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Emotions!, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galfridian/pseuds/galfridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Anne and Gilbert navigate their first year of friendship, there are a few hiccups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Precious Things Discovered Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



Too soon, Anne and Gilbert reach Green Gables. A picturesque evening has enveloped Avonlea, casting its golden light over the trees and pastures—the first blush of summer. At the gate, they linger. Words and laughter and relief spill out of their mouths. These last five years, Anne has spoken to Gilbert only when propriety demanded it. Now, she thirsts to recover their lost time.

As Gilbert retreats over the hill toward the Blythe homestead, Anne finds Marilla in the kitchen. When she delivers her news about the Avonlea Public School, Marilla sinks into a chair, her features alight with relief. "Tell me you thanked Gilbert Blythe for his generosity, Anne," she says, and Anne smiles. Steadfast Marilla, who will worry over Anne's manners until the grave takes her—perhaps longer.

"Of course," Anne assures her, though the words weren't plainly stated. Gilbert, a kindred spirit after all, understood. She crosses to stand by the window overlooking the pasture.

"Hmm," Marilla hums. "And I suppose it was Gilbert who you stood at the gate with for well-nigh an hour."

"Yes," Anne says. Outside, the sun has all but set, and her mind drifts to summers of yesteryear. Her grief for Matthew still presses cruelly on her heart, but the gentleness of his spirit lingers, and Green Gables is calm.

"I didn't know you were such good friends."

Anne turns from the window. "Oh, we haven't been, but we've decided to be. We have years of conversation to catch up with now, Marilla."

"As simple as that?"

"Well, why shouldn't it be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Marilla says, reaching for Anne. Anne sits beside her at the table, across from the seat Matthew preferred, and takes Marilla's hand in hers. "You might recall, Anne, that some habits prove difficult to break."

"Some, but not all. From this day, Gilbert Blythe and I will no longer quarrel," Anne insists, determined to see to it.

 

Two months later, Anne and Gilbert have the first of two disagreements to mar—if only for a moment—an otherwise lovely first year of friendship.

 

It begins—as Anne must reluctantly admit that a number of misadventures have—with one of her ideas.

In July, Gilbert and Anne begin to take refuge in the Haunted Wood. Its trees offer reprieve from the heat, and its charm offers conversation—most often, of all the secrets she has imagined this wood has kept. 

Gilbert listens with a rapt attention reminiscent of the eagerness Anne felt for conversation with Diana in those early days. After years of yearning for a bosom friend, every word from Diana Barry's mouth felt like a gift. Wandering the Haunted Wood with Gilbert, Anne wonders if perhaps she was colder to him than she believed, and if his regret for the years of friendship they might have had runs deeper than hers.

One afternoon, after Anne describes a dream she once had in which two families of fairies waged war in the wood, Gilbert confesses, "I envy your imagination, Anne. Fortunately, our studies never required us to compete in that area. My meager imagination couldn't match yours. "

"Nonsense," Anne says, "imaginations must be _cultivated_. I will admit I was born with a healthy imagination, but before I came to Avonlea, imagining lessened my loneliness, so I did it quite a bit."

"Ah, well—I suppose eighteen must be too old to begin any… _cultivating_."

"Of course it isn't," she insists, a splendid idea already taking root in her mind.

Gilbert, perhaps sensing the birth of her scheme, frowns. "Anne…"

 

The following evening, the Story Club holds its first meeting. The club survives exactly twelve days and three meetings.

Its members include: Anne, Gilbert, Diana, Jane Andrews, Ruby Gillis, Charlie Sloane, and—much to Anne's dissatisfaction—Josie Pye.

"Now, next time we meet, we'll each bring a story we've written. A first draft. We'll share our stories and help each other improve them."

 

Together, Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews _might_ write a great story. Jane has an eye for detail. Her plot, however dull, has some depth. Ruby's story leaps from scene to scene with little warning—and even less logic—but has romance and murder and ghosts. Nothing so captivating sprinkles the pages of Jane's efforts.

Josie, to the surprise of perhaps only Ruby, presents a story with overwhelming similarity to one they read in school. Diana shares a lovely story about two friends who wander into an enchanted garden.

Just as Anne suspects, Gilbert writes well. Years of study—and of ignoring his own creativity—have subdued his imagination, but she feels certain Story Club will fix that.

It's Charlie who most surprises Anne. His story, a comedy of misunderstandings, leaves her sides aching with laughter. Discovering that people can still surprise her, even quiet Charlie Sloane, brightens her evening.

Paragraph by paragraph, Story Club examines each member's story, with the exception of Josie's—who quits when pressured to acknowledge her stolen ideas—and Anne's. Her pleas for appraisals meet only with compliments, but they ring hollow in her ears.

 

After, Gilbert offers to walk Anne home, and she seizes the opportunity to press him for a response. "I wish someone would have said _something_ about my story, Gil. I know it can't be perfect, because no first draft is perfect."

"Well, I imagine if Josie Pye hadn't left, we would still be hearing her complaints," Gilbert says.

"I suppose it isn't likely that Josie would have any useful criticism, but I would've liked to hear that than the empty praise I received instead." When Gilbert refuses to meet her eye, Anne continues, "Even _you_ were too generous."

"You really can't guess why no one wanted to give you advice?"

"Of course not. I welcomed it." Again, Gilbert doesn't so much as glance at her, and a familiar annoyance flares in her veins. She grabs his arm, stopping them just as Green Gables comes into sight. " _Gilbert_."

"It's just—you haven't always dealt with criticism well, particularly with subjects you pride yourself on."

"... you didn't like my story at all, did you?" The thought hits her rather like a punch. Somehow, against all reason, the possibility that Gilbert might hate her story stings worse than if Diana did.

"It isn't that," Gilbert swears. "The plot was great—I wanted to know _more_ —but your characters… " Now, his eyes linger on hers, his gaze as steadfast as it is earnest.

"What about my characters?" The words slip out; Anne doesn't know that she wants his answer after all.

"They… they aren't relatable, Anne. They're _too_ fictitious."

Anne recoils. Hours and candlelight were given to craft these characters. And anyway, how could a character in a story be too fictitious?

"You're wrong," Anne whispers, and leaves Gilbert standing alone on the road.

 

Too miserable to feign contentment, Anne recounts the argument for Marilla. "Oh, Anne," she sighs, drawing Anne near. "At least there were no slates this time."

"Fortunate for Gilbert," Anne says.

 

Only Diana and Charlie show for the third and final meeting of Story Club. Charlie's first story, it turns out, was a fluke. His second attempt confuses Anne and Diana _nearly_ as much as it bores them.

Diana offers an apology rather than a story. "I meant to write yesterday, but Fred Wright came and asked for an afternoon stroll, and… "

 

This time, Anne decides to forgive Gilbert after a week. After all, kindred spirit or not, Gilbert Blythe must still have his flaws. Gilbert's begin with a poor understanding of fiction, she supposes.

 

Summer fades to autumn, and Avonlea bursts with reds and golds as the leaves begin to fall. Anne—now well into her first year of teaching—discovers a newfound pity for her own teachers. A noble and rewarding profession teaching may be, but it is also filled with headaches and frustrations.

Still, she has Gilbert to share these frustrations with, on the rare occasion they have an opportunity to see one another. They trade stories, the good and the terrible, and laugh at their own self-made miseries.

These days, when they speak of arithmetic or geometry or composition, they compare the progress of their Queen's students. Their competitive spirits, it seems, did not die when their educational paths diverged, or even when they made up their minds to be friends.

There's a gentleness to their rivalry now; and laughing with Gilbert beneath soft autumn sunlight, Anne finds herself perfectly at peace.

 

Their second disagreement begins with Diana.

Spring arrives early, driving away winter's frost and coaxing the flowers into bloom; and so it happens that in early March, Anne and Diana wander around the Lake of Shining Waters and collect blossoms.

Winter, along with Anne's Queen's students, has afforded her little time with her first and truest friend. Walking arm-in-arm with Diana warms her more than this year's overeager spring.

Inevitably, their conversation turns toward engagements, as any conversation with her friends so often does these days. "Yesterday, Fred and I walked through the Haunted Wood, and he said that his cousin, John, has proposed to a girl from Carmody. The girl is the daughter of two school teachers, but John feels certain she'll take to farm life well, and Fred agrees."

These last months, Diana has spoken more and more frequently about Fred Wright. She imagines Fred and Diana, strolling through somewhere so sacred as the Haunted Wood together. Anne's stomach turns. "Is that all the concerns the likes of Fred Wright? Whether his wife will suit his needs? What about her desires?"

"Anne, that's not fair," Diana protests. She kneels to pluck a lovely violet bloom, but Anne sees the frown Diana tries to hide. "Farms are hard work—you know that—and it wouldn't suit any farmer to marry a woman unsuited for it."

"Well, as much as I've loved Green Gables, I'm proud to know that life isn't in _our_ futures, Diana. Soon, we'll meet the men we've dreamt of since girlhood, and that will be the beginning of our adventures." Arms full, they turn toward Green Gables.

"I don't know," Diana admits, after several minutes of uneasy silence. "Mother says I'm not suited for life outside Avonlea—"

"—just because she wouldn't permit you to join the Queen's class doesn't mean you can _only_ be someone's wife."

Diana's flowers fall to the ground. "Just because you want to leave Avonlea doesn't mean I must… or that being someone's wife is beneath you."

"I didn't mean—" Anne says, but Diana has already turned on her heel and began marching toward Orchard Slope.

 

"—with all due respect to Mrs. Barry, I resent that she has Diana convinced to give up all her dreams." Anne paces, kicking up specks of mud.

"You didn't say that, did you?" Gilbert asks, and when pauses to glance at him, she finds he looks horrified.

"... not exactly, no." Anne can't bear his disappointment—or her frustration with his disappointment—and resumes her pacing.

Gilbert leans against Green Gables' fence. "Of course she's upset. Anne, you must realize by now that Diana doesn't have your ambitions."

"How can you presume to know Diana better than I do? She's my best friend. I just want her to have everything she desires, rather than settling for what's expected of her."

"You may know Diana better, but I knew her eleven years before you did, Anne. This isn't wild speculation about someone I hardly know. Think about it— _really_ think. Has Diana ever shown interest in leaving Avonlea behind without you suggesting it first?"

Something deep within Anne's heart deflates. _No_ , she realizes, at least not in recent years. With a sigh, she joins Gilbert at the fence. "I just want… "

"I know," he assures her, "and if you want to leave Avonlea—and dear friends like myself—behind to pursue your dreams, that's fine. You should do what makes you happy. But it works both ways. You have to let Diana choose what makes her happy, even if your choices are different."

They linger, shivering in the cool evening air, and for the first time, Anne imagines life without Diana a short walk away.

"I hate that you're right, Mr. Blythe."

He laughs. "It should be familiar to you by now, Miss Shirley."

 

One April morning, Anne wakes and realizes that a year has passed since Matthew's death. Marilla, perhaps dreading the day herself, has gone to visit Rachel Lynde.

Alone in the hollow quiet of Green Gables, Anne's grief crashes over her anew. She weeps, not just because she misses him desperately, but because she hoped to share so many more memories with him. Matthew was her first family, even before Marilla's heart found hers. 

Anne dries her tears and shoulders her grief. However much she misses him, she knows he would hate to see her so overcome with heartache. She dresses, choosing one of Matthew's favorites. At her bedroom door, she pauses; and then with a shaky breath, she opens it and begins her second year without Matthew Cuthbert.

Downstairs, she prepares a simple breakfast of bread and butter, and settles into Matthew's favorite seat at the table. 

From here, she has a pleasant view of the pasture—of the world that sprawls out and away from Green Gables—and as she finishes her breakfast, she sees Gilbert Blythe coming down the hill.

She greets him at the gate, and bolstered by her resolution to be brave, lets him through. They linger there at the gate, lest one of Rachel Lynde's spies spot their minute rebellion against propriety. "I came to see that you're all right," he tells her. He smiles, a shier variation on his usual grin.

"I've decided to be," she answers, and Gilbert nods.

They sit together on the fence, trading stories about Matthew. Gilbert's favorites stretch back before Anne came to Green Gables, and they're her favorite to hear, as they give her little pieces of Matthew she didn't have before.

Sometimes, they sit in amicable silence. The first year of their fledgling friendship ends soon, and yet, somewhere in her mind, Anne feels that she and Gilbert must have been friends all their lives.

"You were right," she confesses, "we were born to be good friends."

**Author's Note:**

> Those familiar with the novels will note I borrowed a little from them, such as a line or so from the dialogue at the beginning, and Anne quoting Gilbert at the end. (And of course, Story Club, though I've altered it to include the boys.)


End file.
